


The Founders Four: United

by ST_Le



Series: The Founders Four [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst and Drama, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Blood Magic (Harry Potter), Boarding School, Break Up, Dark Magic, Drama, Drama & Romance, Education, Elemental Magic, Fluff and Angst, Gryffindor, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Gryffindors Being Gryffindors, Harry Potter References, Helga Hufflepuff's Cup, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff Pride, Hufflepuff Reader, Love, Magic, Magic Revealed, Magic-Users, Magical Accidents, Magical Artifacts, Middle Ages, Muggle Culture, Muggle Life, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Multi, Psychological Drama, Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw Pride, Ravenclaw Reader, Romance, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem, School, Sex Magic, Slytherin, Slytherin Politics, Slytherin Pride, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Sword of Gryffindor, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding History (Harry Potter), Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), Wizarding Traditions (Harry Potter), Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), Wizarding World (Harry Potter), Wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 15:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30141696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ST_Le/pseuds/ST_Le
Summary: The story of the founding of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the 10th Century CE. This is a story of Godric Gryffindor (a lion), Rowena Ravenclaw (an eagle), Salazar Slytherin (a serpent), and Helga Hufflepuff (a badger). Everyone knows that Hogwarts was founded by four of the most brilliant but disparate wizards. But what not everyone knows is the story of how they came to be friends; how united they were with the vision of a formal school providing an extensive magical education for a united British wizarding community before the concept of a united Britain was ever borne. Nobody knows of the complicated and nuanced relationships between them nor the depth of their relationship; and of the joy and heartache that came from it. The story of Hogwarts is the story of Britannia itself. The story of the Founders Four is the story of magic.This is first part of a two-part planned long fic of the story of the Founders Four.
Series: The Founders Four [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218443
Kudos: 1





	The Founders Four: United

**Author's Note:**

> I need to thank members of my writer's group: Angel7 aka EmbarrassedElephant, dispatchwithlove, helilia, and KorrasLegend for all your input and suggestions. I am nothing without you.
> 
> In attempting to write a story set in 10th Century Britain, a lot of research went into it, but there will be tons of anachronisms just because I simply cannot write a story that was totally accurate to these times. My story will try to be as canon-friendly as possible but there will be things I will change for my convenience and/or for my pleasure.

_This is a story of the Founders Four - a lion, an eagle, a serpent, and a badger. You now know them as the well-nigh mythological figures named Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, and Helga Hufflepuff. What do you think of when you hear these names?_

_Do you picture faceless figures who started an institution called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Have you ever given any thought to those who founded THE school that has educated generations of young wizards, some of whom have gone on to renown? Perhaps you have attended this school? If so, you should have an affinity towards at least one of the founders as you were a member of one of their houses. Perhaps your parents did as well. Perhaps your children are attending to their studies right there right now. If so, then one of the founders is as part of your family’s legacy as your own surname. And yet, have you given them much thought?_

_You’ve probably taken for granted that they even founded a school. Surely, an idea for a school was plain old common sense and would have happened eventually, right? Well, you’d be wrong – for these four disparate wizards of different backgrounds and ambitions found each other at just the right place and at the right time to come up with what was then a crazy, unprecedented idea. Fate or sheer coincidence brought these four brilliant minds together to create the vision of a school that would also bring forth the centralized and unified British wizarding community that we enjoy today...when the Kingdom of England was volatile and at its infancy...when there was no concept of the modern-day United Kingdom._

_The story of Hogwarts is the story of Britannia itself. The story of the Founders Four is the story of magic._

**CHAPTER 1: THE LION**

**985 C.E.**

In-between Winchester and the City of London, in the newly unified Kingdom of England.

The hearth of the fire warmed Lettice’s bones as she allowed her weary legs to rest upon the squat stool. The sun was getting ready to set, just as she was ready for this day to be over. But for what? For her to wake up before the rooster’s crow to do it all over again. Her eyes began to feel heavy, like invisible pixies were pulling the skin of her eyelids down.

Hearty laughter from the dining area jolted Lettice awake. It was only five minutes prior that Lettice overheard some men talking about the great wizards they couldn’t wait to meet. It all sounded like a whole other world to her. 

Earlier in the day, while scrubbing the walls, she overheard all these magical travelers coming and going speak of characters like Edmund the terraformer, Oswald the bone healer, Eowlis the rainmaker, and Athelm the Hippogriff rider. The first thought that entered her mind was that none of these travelers were women and neither were any of their heroes. 

However, there was one name that dominated her mind. Godric Gryffindor, the brave. Upon hearing the stories of Godric Gryffindor, she could tell by their voices as they spoke of him, half in disbelief and half in awe of the man, that he was a force to be reckoned with. It was his name she heard of the most from these travelers. It was his name that brought forth the most discussion and debate. 

“I heard Gryffindor did not actually slay that dragon over in Wales, but rather tamed it so that the nearby villages could use him as a pet to help hunt prey!” One man said.

“Hogwash! I heard that slay it he did, and it was from the dragon’s meat that the villagers fed upon in their great feasts!”

“Did you hear the claims there are not only giants in the sky, but castles as well?”

“Not only that, but of giant wives too! I heard he charmed one so much that he entered her cavern, if ye fellers know what I mean?”

“Oh come on, giants aren’t that big!”

“Who says they aren’t!”

And back-and-forth it went. Stories of Godric’s heroics ranged from the highly fantastical: slaying dragons, fighting warlocks, defeating twelve highly-trained wizards simultaneously in a duel, and confiscating magical items from greedy goblins; to the muggle: his swordsmanship, his connections with muggle kings and earls, and even fighting in muggle wars where he helped Mercia and East Anglia fight off the Norsemen and Danes from the land. 

Lettice wanted nothing but to hear more about this valiant Godric Gryffindor before Mrs. Mouffat sent her on her task in the back kitchen. _What task?_ Lettice had forgotten why she was back in the kitchen area, squatting on the stool, and letting the cauldron fire warm her bones. No matter. Maybe she can get a bit of rest before Mouffat would notice. She checked over her shoulder to see if the coast was clear before finally resting her eyes.

“Hurry up, girl! Four bowls! And sprinkle some of that mutton shred onto the gruel, now! Aye, lots of visitors passin’ through, but none can afford any decent entree or a full room.” 

Lettice shot up and grabbed the two buckets of slop from the indoor outhouse closet she was supposed to throw out the back door exit. She didn’t need another whippin’ from Mrs. Mouffat. 

_That old wrench is lucky she knows magic otherwise I could be queen of the kitchen,_ Lettice thought.

Lettice, like most magical folk in Mercia or England – as all the kingdoms are now called – could neither read nor write. And why should they? They only needed to know how to speak and to work. No matter how magical one is, without the ability to read or write or to learn actual spellcasting, one might as well be a squib. 

With her first task was done, Lettice quickly dropped the brown-stained buckets and rushed towards the porridge pot. _Don’t forget to put the shredded mutton on top...and turn this porridge into pottage._

Grabbing the wooden spoon, she noticed that a skin had formed top of the thick oatey stew. Lettice then stirred the pot in a clockwise circular motion. However, in her eagerness to stir in the skin, she stabbed the bottom of the cauldron and accidentally scraped off some of the burnt bits. Muttering to herself that any blackened bits found in the bowl would result in another whippin’ or lecture from Mrs. Mouffat, Lettice hurriedly stirred the porridge - noticing that doing so in a serpentine fashion while whisking in quick spurts with her wrist seemed to fold in the burnt pieces better thus successfully hiding them from her watcher’s keen eyes.

Suddenly a flash. Then two. 

_That’s not normal...maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. It must be the flames fanning. Or maybe that horrid poltergeist was back up to his old tricks making my life a lively hell! Oh well,_ Lettice thought as she stirred the porridge again.

Then all of a sudden, the wooden spoon started sputtering out sparks.

Not knowing what to do about the sparkling spoon shooting off bolts of pink and blue, Lettice threw it into the pot while screaming her lungs out. 

“Bloody hell!” Lettice screamed as she leapt for cover from the fireworks show happening in the glop of gruel.

“What on Earth is going on back here, girl!?” Mrs. Mouffat yelled as she entered the kitchen before noticing the bubbling and expanding cauldron. 

A bang! A crash! And a few more lightning crashes.

In the thick cloud of smoke, a shadowy figure appeared from Lettice’s vantage point behind some wooden crates. There she saw her; Mrs. Mouffat in a stance with her whipping stick extended out. From that stick came an invisible shield that stopped the piping hot porridge from splashing all over her as splatters of gruel started forming their own wall against her invisible barrier.

“How did you do that?!” Lettice couldn’t help but exclaim, amazed at the spell Mrs. Mouffat conjured. 

“Never you mind, girl! What did you do?” bellowed Mrs. Mouffat.

Lettice simply sighed as the momentary excitement had left her body. Instead of answering, she simply walked towards Mrs. Mouffat, explained what had happened and then offered up her forearms in preparation for the whipping. Lettice closed her eyes ready for the first sting, but none came.

“Oh, never you mind, girl,” Mrs. Mouffat repeated, but this time softly with a sigh a hint of an empathetic smile. “You’re gettin’ to be that age, aren’t ye?”

Lettice had no idea what Mrs. Mouffat was talking about but was grateful that she was no longer looking for retribution. 

“At around eleven, you’re going to find out you’ll be making all kinds of things explode or disappear or float, for no reason at all. Happens to all of us.” Mrs. Mouffat whispered a spell that caused water from the nearby stream to fill the washing bucket she had just grabbed.

“Oh,” Lettice answered blankly. She knew she was a witch, just like Mrs. Mouffat...just like all of the customers at this hidden inn and tavern on the road between Winchester and London. However, she didn’t know these things...these sort of explosive magical things would happen out of nowhere or out of her control. “When do they stop happening?”

“There are things I will teach you from time to time to control it, but really, sometimes things just happen out of our control. We just live with it and hope the muggles don’t notice too much,” Mrs. Mouffat said softly and sighed. Lettice noticed Mouffat now had a somewhat faraway look to her, as if she was reminiscing of some time long ago.

Before Lettice could ask anymore questions, Mrs. Mouffat threw a rag and the wash bucket towards her. “Now, go and clean all of this up! That’s right, I won’t be using any of my cleain’ spells tonight. Good hard work is what you can do to make up for the mess you made and profits we’ll lose from havin’ no porridge to sell tonight.” Mrs. Mouffat continued grumbling to herself as she exited the kitchen to tell the patrons there would be no pottage for them tonight. “...And makin’ me waste me good water on this mess, too! I’ve half a mind to send you back to the orphanage. If only I didn’t need the help so much!...not to mention your betrothed to the farmer’s son...and we need the onions!” 

* * *

“Aye, lads! I’ll see you around!” Godric Gryffindor said as he leapt off a horse-drawn carriage packed tightly with other wanderers and travelers. 

“Oh Godric, you sure you want us to drop you off in the middle of nowhere? There’s a couple of inns a few miles up the roadr with lots of _room_ ,” said the carriage driver’s wife with a wink and a not-so-subtle lick to her lips, much to the carriage driver’s chagrin. 

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine here,” Godric said while collecting his bags and grabbing his greatsword from another traveler who he believed to be sly enough to steal it. “I know a man and his missus somewhere off around the corner that’ll take me in.”

“Well, in that case maybe…” one traveler started to say as he got up from his sitting position.

“Best, be off with ye! Next time you see me walkin’ round these parts, give me a holler and we’ll swap more stories!” Godric interrupted, intentionally cutting the muggle traveler off.

“More like fairy tales! Good lord Godric, I’d think you were a loon if yer stories weren’t so fun!” The carriage-driver tossed his head back laughed, looking to his wife for support. 

“It don’t matter if ye believe me or not, for I have the battle scars to prove it!” Godric stretched his sore, aching muscles - dismissing the carriage-driver’s attempt to cut him down. Godric felt he owed it to the poor sod as his wife kept showering him with attention for the past sixty or so miles. It was not lost on him that he was putting a bit of muscle on display for some women passing by in another carriage. They may have been nuns— if nuns can giggle like that—, wondered Godric.

“Well, we’ll be off then!” huffed the carriage-driver’s wife. 

“Don’t think those nuns would be cutting their noses to spite their face around Godric, would they?” said another passenger.

“Go on!” commanded the carriage-driver’s wife.

As he watched them drive away towards their destination, Godric mumbled under his breath, “Yeah yeah, fairy tales.” He gave the shrinking carriage one last look before muttering, “somethin’ about muggles you gotta love. So naive, so innocent.”

After that long ride from Winchester to London, the thing Godric Gryffindor wanted to do most was to devour an entire horse and then plop his body down on some comfortable straw mattress. But first, he had to remember where this blasted wizard’s tavern was located.

After walking off the path for some time, there he found the Y-shaped oak tree with a twisted and scarred trunk. Trying to remember the pattern correctly, Godric first pulled on the third lowest, then fifth lowest, then knocked on the tree in a musical pattern set to the famous parlour song “Simple Folk”. 

Just then the Y-shaped tree ripped apart. Godric the branches shook and leaves rustled and fell as the wood splintered into a tunnel-shaped entrance. The ripped edges looked as if it had been gilded with gold with a glow emanating from the dark entranceway that enticed Godric to jump down into the abyss. 

Upon dropping down to the seemingly bottomless pit, Godric felt himself flying unnaturally upwards. The looser skin of his face pulled down as his body shot up towards the topless space. Then he curbed to the right, and then the left. Then down. Then up. He had lost track of all the twists and turns by the time his stomach lurched. Before he knew it, he rolled out of an ashy unused fireplace like a bulky, dusty tumbleweed at the back of The Hobgoblin Tavern and Inn for Magical Folk. After landing with a thud on his bottom, Godric continued to sit as the view of the place stopped spinning. Once everything stabilized, he looked towards the audience silently gawking squarely at the man who had just entered. Realizing the sloppiness of his landing position, Godric shot up and saluted like one of those Venetian acrobats he saw gracefully flipping from one position to another. So much for first impressions.

“Leave it to Mrs. Mouffat to give me a tumble I’ll never forget!” Godric roared out to the crowd before being met with cheers.

“Godric Gryffindor!” howled Mrs. Mouffat as she ran towards him. “I haven’t seen you since you left for the continent!”

“Which time? I’ve been back and forth!” Godric answered as he welcomed a squeeze from her.

“The first time, ten years ago! When you were just a tyke of fifteen or so. My my my, you surely aren’t a tyke anymore, are ye?” Mrs. Mouffat licked her lips, and Godric could not resist taking in a glance of the shapely full-bosomed woman in front of him. Godric took the nearest seat at a communal table hoping to hide the excitement between his thighs. 

“And you were just a gal of twenty-…” Godric teased, as he pulled Mrs. Mouffat by the hip and brought her onto his lap. Godric didn’t know why, but women just drove him mad. He couldn’t get enough of them. Everything about the feminine form was appetizing to him.

“Now, don’t you start!” Mrs. Mouffat laughed as she raised herself from his lap - not without first caressing his thigh then slapping Godric on his excitement.

Though the slap was indeed painful, this was the kind of foreplay Godric loved the most. He couldn’t get enough of women who were interested but made him work for it. Then his stomach started to grumble.

“What do ye have to eat here, I’m starvin’!” 

“Lucky for you, we have two specials, the beef and onion, and the roast quail. Now, don’t be cheap on me and order the porridge.” Mrs. Mouffat’s face lit up. “Leave it to you to use the old fireplace entrance, we have another pattern now on the old oak tree that takes you gently to the new front entrance. I’ll teach it to ya if you’ll be a good boy now.”

“Ah, bless ye, you old bar wench!” Godric kissed both of her hands. “Aye, I’ll take both, and add some of that cheese pie, fried spinach, and whatever fruit you got there in the back! All the ale you can pour!”

“I’ll pay for his first round of ale!” Declared a wide-eyed dark-haired man clearly in awe.

“I’ll pay for his next!” A fair-haired man shouted.

“And I’ll…” A bald man with a pointed beard one started.

“Please please please!” Mrs. Mouffat ordered, her voice rising higher than any patron’s. “Just leave your money with me and I’ll make sure every cent is accounted for in ale!” She winked at Godric and made her way back to the kitchens while swaying her hips animatedly.

“Huzzah!” Godric yelled, slamming a mug full of ale one patron had already slid to him. Nearly the entire tavern followed-suit.

Looking around the tavern, Godric noticed a girl, of no more than eleven, sneaking a peek at him from the back kitchens. Godric broke his gaze right away, as he tried to hide away a pang of guilt and shame he always felt when he enjoyed the fruits of the labor of magical children. This was no place for them. _Children had a right to childhood!_ He kept such thoughts to himself and he never met a person who did not laugh at him for expressing such sentiment.

As Godric drank the remnants of the brown gravy from the beef and onion, one patron finally felt brave enough to approach him. Godric had noticed this fellow before. He stood out from the others as he more than the others was trying to hide his eagerness to speak to him. He was clearly nervous, but it was also obvious that he had convinced himself he was hiding it. Something told Godric to be on his guard with this man.

“Sir Gryffindor, sir…”

“Just Godric,” he answered as he tore off a huge chunk of flesh from the quail breast.

“Excuse me, it’s just I would never presume…”

“You already have by approaching me.”

“Well, I was wondering -”

“If it’s rude to ask a man a question before introducing himself? It is.” Gordic said, not bothering to look from his bread as he sopped up some gravy. 

Feeling a pang of pity, Godric decided to give the man his full attention, observing his face. As he looked deep into this man’s eyes, he felt though his initial instincts were correct, this man posed no danger to him nor did he mean to communicate any threat. However, there was just this strangeness about him. This man had an affected way of speaking even if his manner and accent fit in with the rest of southern Mercia or even Wessex. With his tight, straight posture and carefully conscious use of his hands, this man was too careful or aware of his composure and movement as well. Godric did not know why, but something inside of him felt he needed to know this man or at least he felt the need to rid this man of the invisible cloak of appropriateness he covered himself with to see what he was truly about. 

“Oh...well...my apologies, it’s just I…” the nervous man stuttered. Godric saw how this man started to sweat. Looking strangers deep into their eyes would do that to a person. As Godric eyed the man up and down, he may have been wrong to deduce that this man was just nervous.

This man, though well-groomed, was pale and thin. He may have had manners of someone of the upper-borne but he had a desperate energy. No, his shaking was not just due to nervousness; he was about to keel over! Upon further thought, Godric did not remember seeing the man with any plate of food or cup of drink. 

“I notice you haven't ordered yet. If you don't think it rude, please join me for dinner. I haven't had a proper companion to dine with in a very long time."

“Oh, well, I mean, please I could not.”

“Come on, man! You never decline an invitation to dine, especially from someone famous and offerin’ up to pay, eh?” Godric winked at the man, then slid a plate of quail and fruit towards him

“Well, I had ordered the porridge, but something happened to it apparently.” The nervous man looked sheepishly towards the back.

“Here, eat some of this cheese tart with that quail and fruit. They go well together. I’ll order another round of beef and onion. I hadn’t had enough myself and was looking for an excuse to order another one.”

“Well, sir, surely…”

“Godric!”

“Sorry, Godric.”

“And you are?”

“Slytherin, Salazar Slytherin,” the man answered as he gratefully devoured the cheese tart and tore a quail leg off.

“That’s me boy!” Godric laughed at the sight of this man essentially inhaling the food and drink he had offered. He loved to see someone eat with such gusto. Those with healthy appetites are hungry for more, much like him. “Wench! Ale here!”

“Call me wench one more time, and I’ll give you somethin’ to scream about!” Mrs. Mouffat yelled from a nearby table.

“Is that a promise, Mouffat?” 

“Why you! Watch I don’t give yer a spankin’!”

“Again, is that a promise, Mrs. Mouffat?”

“Cheeky!” Mrs. Mouffat again swayed her hips towards the bar to fetch more ale for Godric.

“How do you do that?” Salazar asked in-between bites.

“Do what?”

“Talk to women so disrespectfully and have them laugh?”

“I don’t know. I just know when people are in the mood for play and when not to push their buttons.” 

“People confuse me.”

“What der yer mean?”

“I’ve been trying to figure people out all of my life. I understand a great deal of things, but it’s taking me a lifetime so far to figure out what they communicate with their hidden expressions and such. Why can’t people just say what they mean?”

Sizing up this peculiar fellow with his pointed beard, his monk-like shaved head, and his emerald green hooded robe...indeed, this was a man who struggled all of his life, and he was clearly aware of that fact.

“Thank you for inviting me to dine. I admit I am grateful, but I didn’t come greet you so that you could take pity and pay for my dinner, I wanted to discuss…”

“Shh...here comes Mrs. Mouffat.”

“There you are, Godric. I took it upon meself to hand you the bill. I already deducted the ale those others offered to pay. Let me know if you need anything else.” Mouffat slammed a parchment slip full of figures.

Before Godric could say anything, Mrs. Mouffat left to deal with a new group of men who had entered the tavern through the front door prompting Godric to mutter under his breath about how nobody else had made quite the entrance he did.

“Pardon?” Salazar asked.

“-before you thank me for your meal,” Godric said eyeing the bill, “I’m afraid I’m a bit short.”

“What do you mean?” Salazar had grown as pale as when Godric first laid eyes on him.

“I mean I don’t have enough coin to pay, my friend.”

“Don’t ‘my friend’ me! What were you doing with me? Collecting an accomplice? Why did you order so much food and ale if you had so little coin?” Salazar crossed his arms, furrowed his brow. Godric suddenly felt like he was a child being scolded by Abbot Benedict back in the monastery where he grew up. Time to put on the charm. 

“If I only ordered what I could pay for, we wouldn’t have enjoyed such a meal now, would we?”

“But I…”

“It’s easier to apologize than to ask permission, I must say!”

“I think you’re misapplying what that means.”

“Mrs. Mouffat!” Godric snapped his fingers and Mrs. Mouffat was back in a flash. 

“Yes, you got my coin?”

“Well, you see, my bones are still cold and I was wondering if you had any wine? When I was in Normandy, I had this delicious Burgundy made from the red grapes of…”

“I just got the white and the red.”

“Well, where are they…”

“One is red and one is white.”

“Which one is cheaper?”

“The white.”

“Then we’ll take the red!”

Mrs. Mouffat shot Godric and Salazar a look of disbelief as she shook her head and hesitated.

“...Oh and add two bowls of that game stew you have,” Godric continued, pretending Mrs. Mouffat’s hesitation was an invitation for him to finish his order.

Salazar’s eyes grew wide momentarily before he quickly went back to safe and careful expression he had for most of the night. 

_Ha! I knew that face was a put-on. Good, the man can play along_ , Godric thought.

Mrs. Mouffat narrowed her eyes at Godric and Salazar before shrugging to fetch their order.

“What did you do that for?” hissed Salazar as he slammed his palms on the table.

“To buy us more time to think about how we can pay the bill,” said Godric nonchalantly. 

“Didn’t you just make our problem worse?”

“Cost-benefit, my friend. The cost of running up the bill with two goblets of wine and two bowls of stew is less than the cost of having no plan to pay, and the benefit of having more time is greater than the benefit of having no time to come up with a plan to pay.” Godric leaned back against the wall and let out a resounding belch. 

Salazar sighed as he shook his head down towards the floor, refusing to look in Godric’s direction. Godric felt as though this man may be ready to run and leave the problem to Godric to take care of alone. He waited for Salazar to respond, but after a few beats, Godric started to say, “Listen, pal, it looks as though -”

“- well, how do you plan so that we can pay for this meal?” Salazar finally said as he rested his chin on his first with his eyes fixed on the bill.

“Camaraderie! I knew you were a friend of mine! Sticking together, I see.” Godric slammed his fists on the table that the whole board flew from the ground. This stirred the other patrons from the other side of the longboard awake from their drunken stupor, and prompted Salazar to grab his cup of red wine before it splits all over his emerald green robes.

“For now,” Salazar grunted, carefully placing the cup of wine back on the table. 

Godric became conscious of all the other wizards around, some of whom were startled by his table slam, and others looking curiously at him.

“Think man, look around you. What do you see?” Godric said in a near whisper.

“A bar full of men growing increasingly drunk by the minute." As Salazar eyed the room warily, a man, cape wrapped sloppily round his head, stumbled into a stool and fell face-first to the ground. His companions' only response was riotous laughter. Salazar sneered, "And men already two sheets to the wind."

“...And why are they here?”

“To have a drink.”

“No man, think! What is this place?”

“A bar.”

“Not just a bar, but…”

“An Inn.”

“Yes but…”

“A wizard’s bar and inn.”

“Precisely. Now why are there so many men here now? Why are we here, if I may presume on your behalf.”

“They are all travelers judging by their bags and books and maps and such. They all must be here for The Wizard’s Council’s Festival and Trials happening in a week in London.”

“That’s it. These aren’t just common wizard folk looking for a place to drink after a hard day's labor...they are travelers and adventurers like us. They are going to the Festival and Trials to win that grand prize and stipend. These are wizards who know their magic and know how to use it.”

“So what? We beg them for money? Ask them if they happened to know a spell to conjure up coins out of thin air?” Salazar asked sarcastically. 

“Pish posh! No! I will invite all of them to a duel and we’ll wager bets and put it into a pot, then when I win we can take the spoils. I’ll offer you 10 percent if you help me.”

“First of all, how do you know any of these men will duel you? Your reputation as the best duelist in England precedes you -”

“Why thank you!” Godric sat back and smiled widely as memories of past adventures and duels flashed before his eyes. Godric could see it like it all happened yesterday – quick flicks of his wand, awed crowds, and stunned opponent's faces. They all marveled at his skill. Yes, he did enjoy dueling

“I’m not done!” Salazar interrupted, clearly annoyed that Godric looked as though he was about to doze off before going through with his plan to duel at least twenty other wizards. “Second of all, all of these men have been cheering for you and buying you ale! They’re too in awe of you to challenge you. And third, only ten percent?”

“Pfft! If all these men have been buying me ale, I wouldn’t be in such a mess! Less than half of these men have been in awe of me. The other half plus that new group has been eyeing me and salivating over me like I’m a piece of prime rib. They all have been wanting to test me, to see if I’m as good as the stories have it. Some of these men have been mean-mugging me with their plates of cheap bread and cheese since my first plate of beef and onion. They want to bring me down a peg or two.”

“How would those men have the coin to spend on a duel?”

“Believe me, they’re frugal with the necessities of life, but spend on the luxuries. It’s human nature - muggle or wizard.”

“My my, you sure do know your fandom.” Salazar looked deep in thought as he cupped his face. “I feel if there’s still a way to get out of this without making a spectacle of ourselves, then we should take it. Why don’t we ask Mrs. Mouffat if you can put this meal on credit?”

“This is the first time I’ve been here in a decade, I ain’t exactly a regular, you know. Anyway, how about ten percent and you can share my room tonight, once we get the spoils. It beats campin’ outside or sharing the nearby barn with the other dozens of men here.”

“Fifteen percent and the bed. It’ll take a silver tongue to get these men to loosen up a good chunk of their coin.” Salazar leaned in closely and lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’re just in luck. I may not know how to converse with folk, but I sure know how to incite them and get them to loosen up their coin. Been doin’ it my entire life.” 

“Just as I thought.” Godric responded in-kind leaning even closer to Salzar, lips nearly touching. 

“Wait, what does that mean?”

“You look like that sort of character.”

“I beg your pardon, I…”

“Don’t act all high and mighty now! I see you with that hint of a smirk. You’re enjoying the idea of bamboozling your way out of payin’ and gettin’ these fellers to pay for us instead, while beating them up a bit.”

“My my, and here I thought the great Godric Gryffindor was honorable.”

“I am, I ain’t cheating nobody out of nothing. I’m just teaching them a lesson on doubting the ‘Great Godric Gryffindor’, and giving Mrs. Mouffat her due in the meantime.”

“Well, since we’re talking about teaching these men a lesson by spell, I assume I’ll be your second. Lucky for you, I’m an excellent duelist myself.” Salazar offered Godric a half-smile and an arched eyebrow. 

“I could tell by that wand you have on your belt. Only a duelist or a learned wizard would know the value of a wand.” Godric slid his fingers on the ridges of his wand. 

“Before we start ridding these men of their coin, I actually came by with a proposition. You see, a man like is in need of potions and I -” 

Before Salazar could continue, Godric shot up, let out a huge yawn, glanced down at Salazar, and said, “Ok, pal. Time to be brave.”


End file.
